And I'm Talking To A Notebook Again
by MaggieBee21
Summary: And then you have a fuming father, a crying step mother and a broken plate with some food on the floor. Yeah, I don't think I'll be invited over for Christmas next year. / How Jade spends Christmas / Jade-centric with minor Bade at the end. Oneshot!


**AN: So, this is a re-upload, since this story got deleted. :S **

**It's about Christmas, which I know i kinda weird in June, but as I said before: It's a re-up, this was written in December ;)**

**I hope you enjoy. :D**

* * *

Okay, here's the deal: I hate Christmas. Ifucking _hate_ it.

Well, it's not like I've always hated it. As a little kid it's easy to brim over enthusiasm for a holiday, where you're being overwhelmed with gifts. And to be completely honest, I've only now decided to hate Christmas. I've never been a fan of it, but the last 12 hours were the cherry on the fucking cake, which is my miserable life. Wow, I should really take classes in figurative writing. I can totally see my future there.

And don't even start asking me why I'm writing in this stupid notebook. I needed something to distract me. So I decided to put this nice day, fulfilled with sunshine and happiness to paper. Do you even wanna hear my –probably pretty boring- story about my Christmas day? Perhaps not. But seriously, I couldn't care less. And in this case, the _you _I'm talking to is a notebook, so I should seriously think about putting myself into a metal hospital. Which I'm totally not gonna do. Cause mental hospitals are full of creepy guys, trying to get all up in your business. A bit like Lane. But, I'm getting carried away.

Okay, where do I begin now? I could begin with the end, but that would ruin all the suspense and kinda the sense of all this. If I'd tell you the end of this, I wouldn't have to write down all the stuff that happened before, cause it wouldn't be interesting anymore. And starting with the end is not something you do when you're telling a story.

Scratch that, I just read the last paragraph and realized I was talking to a notebook again. My pride is somewhere in the corner, crying. Cause it's missing my mental health, which ran off to New Mexico.

So, imagine it's the 24th of December. You're happily sleeping in your cozy bed, when suddenly your Mom bursts into the room, rips the curtains open (with the horrible side effect of it being all _bright_ in my usually dark room) and tells you that you're forced to spend Christmas Eve with your father. Yay. (Imagine this being said in the least euphoric voice ever.) Completely ignoring my half hearted protests (cause seriously, compared to my Mom, my dad's a saint), she explains to me that she's celebrating Christmas with her new boyfriend and that she doesn't want me around the house. I reeeaaally wonder why. Ugh. I didn't need that mental image.

And though I'd never admit it, it didn't feel good to know that your own mother prefers to spend Christmas with a guy, she only knows for a few days than with her only daughter. Not that I _wanted _to spend it with her, my Mom can be really exhausting and kinda mean. Especially now when she's trying to give up the alcohol. But I'd prefer that she'd spend it with me, than with this Carlos guy. I hate him. He and Mom know each other for barely four days, and he's one of the few boyfriends of her I actually met. And he seems like a guy who's very likely to break her heart. And probably take all her money first. And no matter how often I point out that I hate my mother, I still don't want her to get hurt. Especially not on Christmas. God, I think I've gone soft.

So there I was, packing a few things for the upcoming day at my Dad's house, after having lunch. Well sort of. Mom tried to cook, probably to make up for this crappy Christmas. I'm not gonna give any more details, cause seeing this once was disturbing enough, so I practically just ate what was in the fridge.

When Carlos turned up at our house and I opened the door for him, he started going on about how I was still here and how I was supposed to be somewhere else. Yeah… Can you feel the bond between us? If not, let me tell you: it's huge. And if you don't get the sarcasm here, I don't know what's wrong with you. So since my father wouldn't be here to pick me up for another hour I had to ignore Mom and Carlos making out on our couch. I could've just gone into my room, but I somehow felt like walking around the house. Weird. I think he was really pissed at me. How do I know? Well, I could've just interpreted the annoyed and angry looks he shot me right. Or maybe it was the fact that he threatened to kill me, if I didn't get my ass out of this house. Yeah, my Mom really knows how to pick her boyfriends.

When my Dad's car finally pulled up in front of our house, I didn't really know if I should be happy to leave this place, or be pissed at the fact that I had to spend Christmas Eve with my father and his stupid wife. I seriously don't know which one of those two people annoys me more.

Since you probably have never experienced a car drive with my beloved father, you have no idea how awkward this can be. And since _you're _a notebook, this last sentence didn't make any sense at all. Fuck. Oh, I cursed, I am sorry. I'll bake you an apology cake the next time I see you. …And I'm talking to objects again. (By the way that sentence before was pure sarcasm, don't expect me to bake _anyone _a cake. Especially not people who mind when I curse. I curse when I want, deal with it.)

Okay, where was I? Right, car drives with my father. Though I see him like once every three months, there is nothing I have to say to him. And he doesn't have to say a lot to me either. Just the usual stuff: How's school going (with the clear undertone of "I don't care"), will you take those piercings out, stop cursing, did you get arrested the last months… Blah, blah, blah. All this takes about 5 minutes and then we spend the next 21 minutes in complete silence. And yes, I tend to check time during car drives with my Dad. A lot.

When we arrived at Dad's house, I felt the sudden urge to take a sharp knife and stab my eyes with it. The whole house was blinking and shining and sparkling. And if I say the whole house, I mean _the whole _house. I was almost expecting it to puke out glitter through the front door. I stared at my father with a blank expression on my face, cause though I don't see him a lot, I just _knew _that was not what he wanted his house to look like. Not even on Christmas. I can't believe I'm saying that, but: He's way too much like me, when it comes to Christmas decorations. That's the only time I feel something like a connection between me and my Dad. I remember when I was younger and he picked me up from school around Christmas time, we used to make fun of all the hideous Christmas decorations while we were in the car. Yeah… That was a long time ago. Now he just shrugged at me and went inside. I followed as quickly as possible not cause I wanted to see my step mother, but because I had to resist from puking.

Inside the house my step mother Alicia was preparing the Christmas dinner and didn't even bother to greet me. Not that I minded. She didn't particularly like me, probably cause I told her she looked like a goat once. Maybe twice. But she really does. She has this sticking out chin, and kinda big eyes. And a horrible hair cut. If I was her, I'd sue my hairdresser.

We ate in silence, Alicia shooting my Dad a glare once or twice. Yeah, she seemed really enthusiastic about the fact I was spending Christmas with them. It was then when it all went wrong. Well, the day had already been horrible, but I kinda lost my patience there. I might have told her that if she doesn't want me here, she could just say so. And maybe, just maybe I screamed a little bit. And I kinda threw my plate at the wall. Actually I only did that, cause I had seen it in several dramatic family movies, where upset teenagers throw their food around. And I've always wanted to try that.

And whoever says, I had been overreacting: seriously, shut up. I know I never talk about my feelings, but it's Christmas and all that crap, and honestly: It doesn't feel good to know that your parents are practically fighting about who has to deal with you for that day. And now add all the other stupid things that happened today together, and you have a fuming father, a crying step mother and a broken plate and some food on the floor. Yeah, I don't think I'll be invited over for Christmas next year.

To shorten this a little: Alicia cleaned the mess up, Dad shouted at me until he was hoarse, they left to go to my Aunt Marianne's house (Where I'm not allowed anymore, cause my cousin Kendra starts crying whenever she sees me) and I found this stupid notebook. The rest is history. And now I'm currently sitting in my Dad's living room, writing into it. Cause I don't have anything better to do on Christmas Eve.

Yeah. I totally just told this story to a book. Oh, gosh, I hope no one will ever read this.

*.*

Okay, I have no idea why I'm writing in here again, but it's the next day and I'm at Mom's house again. It's evening and she's currently crying in her bedroom, cause Carlos broke up with her, but that doesn't matter right now.

Fact is that in the morning Dad was still angry at me for throwing food around, so I called Beck to pick me up and take me home. Yap. He totally found this book. And being curious and stupid as he is, he totally read it. Beck, if you ever read this again: You're a dick.

Worst thing was that he felt sorry for me the rest of the day. But I punched him several times, which kinda made up for that.

Also, I read through what I wrote yesterday, and after all: It could've been worse. I mean, it could've ended like thanksgiving. Believe me, you don't want a day to end like the last thanksgiving.

...AndI'm talking to a notebook again.

*.*

.*.

**AN: Thanks for reading! :) **

**Please review, if you liked it! (You can also review if you hated it, but please don't be mean O.o)**

**xoxo MaggieBee21**


End file.
